


if i can't change the weather (maybe i could change your mind)

by metsuryuogi



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bed & Breakfast, Big dorks, F/M, Fluff, Road Trips, blink and you miss it i made gilbert jewish because it is my birthright, i will never stop writing shirbert smooching while sharing a bed, small mentions of roy, there's only one bed!!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metsuryuogi/pseuds/metsuryuogi
Summary: Anne and Gilbert carpool back home for winter break, luckily, it won't snow... right?
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 36
Kudos: 159





	if i can't change the weather (maybe i could change your mind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx/gifts).



> HELLLOOOOO!! I hope everyone enjoyed their holidays! 
> 
> We at the storybook club have been planning a secret santa for a while,,, and I got my dear friend Ela (xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx). Ela,,, we have bonded over the art of making mixtapes to the ones we love, so I reallly wanted to incorporate that in this gift. I loved all your prompts but this one just spoke to me deeply hehe! 
> 
> I hope you love it<3

**5:30 pm** ♦ **10ºF** ♦ **396.9** **km to Avonlea** ♦ **now playing:** ** _this must be the place_**

_"... and despite the below-freezing weather, it should be a clear night. We won't see snow until tomorrow afternoon."_

Anne is usually the type to ignore the weather reports and take what mother nature gives her in stride, but traveling with the wet blanket that is Gilbert Blythe means that "planning" and "being prepared" were part of the equation. 

Calling Gilbert a wet blanket might exaggerate any negative feelings she may or may not have for her curly-headed menace of a neighbor, but really, she left all those murderous thoughts senior year of high school. If someone had told a 17-year-old, outrageously stubborn Anne Shirley-Cuthbert that she'd willingly subject herself to a four-hour road trip with the boy who called her _carrots_ in Miss Stacey's junior literature class, she'd laugh in their face and tell them to check themselves for a head injury. But senior year, after Gilbert supported her after a particularly horrid act by Billy Andrews, and the subsequent article penned by Anne made rounds across the whole school, she's had a soft spot for him. 

Plus, he was literally the only person she could carpool home with— Diana was flying to Paris to see Aunt Jo, and Moody's car was packed with Ruby, Jane, and Tillie. Well, there was also Charlie, but he drives like he's as old as time, and the torch he still holds for her is starting a burn a little too bright for her comfort. Also, Gilbert can be easily manipulated into stopping for snacks.

It's an obvious choice. 

**[anne]:** that guy on the weather station that looks like he came straight from the 70s says there's not gonna be snow, and by golly i trust him. 

**[gilbert]:** i just want to be safe; is that really so unreasonable? 

**[anne]:** yes, yes, it is. where is your sense of adventure? 

**[anne]:** also are you texting and driving??? you're coming to pick up precious cargo 

**[gilbert]:** i'm at a red light. you know i would never text and drive. 

**[anne]:** i absolutely do not know that. get here soon pls:) 

When Gilbert's car pulls into the curb, Anne is made to remember the abysmal condition his car is in— the bumper is banged up, and the paint on the right side is scratched off— but she can't dwell on her decision too much now, because Matthew and Marilla are already expecting her and she can't very well cancel on them. Her backpack is filled to the brim with clothes and toiletries, swinging behind her as she speeds out the door down the porch steps. 

He rolls down the window and pokes his head out, "Anne, why didn't you pack a suitcase? That thing is seconds away from snapping." 

She rolls her eyes, slapping the hood of his car, and swiftly opening the passenger door. His car is immaculate beside the lab coat in the backseat, and it smells like pine from that classic evergreen hanging on the mirror. It reminds her of one particular day he drove her home in high school; it was awkward, silent, and the tension was almost painful. Now, as she slides into the seat and unplugs his phone from the AUX without a word, it's nearly too comfortable. There isn't a silent moment at all before she starts riffing back. 

"Suitcases are so expensive— why would I buy one when I could simply use the backpack I already own?" 

"Because the strap is literally hanging by a couple of threads," he says, hand reaching past the center console to softly touch the strap that still grazes her shoulder. He pulls his hand away quickly once she sets her eyes on it, "anyway, didn't you just buy a new set of pricy vintage poetry books?" 

Anne deadpans, "priorities, Gilbert." 

She starts playing her road trip mix as he reverses back onto the main drag, his arm set on the head of her seat as he turns to look out the back window. Anne knows that this is one of those 'I-can't-believe-I-find-this-an-attractive-move-but-I-do' situations, but really, she doesn't find the way his sleeves ride up to his forearms attractive. She certainly doesn't find the look of concentration that dawns on his face— eyebrows furrowed and tongue peeking out ever so slightly— attractive at all. The butterflies in her stomach are most definitely from her growing hunger and nothing more. 

"Don't you think it's a little rude to help yourself to the AUX chord without the permission of your gracious host?" He asks with a smirk, eyes glancing at hers for a moment. 

"I really don't want to sit through four hours of 'The Smiths,'" she laughs, and he tries to look offended for a second before flexing his fingers on the wheel and shrugging in defeat. "Also, I made a mixtape." 

Her grin of achievement quickly fades at his amused chuckle, which reverberates in her ears like the bass echoing from the speakers. "Is it really a mixtape if you made it on Spotify?" 

"It's a mixtape because I said so," she nods, setting her eyes on the road ahead of them and the purple-pink skies above. 

"And is that the first of many debates I can expect on this drive?" His tone can only be described as oddly excited, thrumming the beat with his thumbs on the wheel. 

She shakes her head, "I wouldn't say debates— that implies a proper back and forth— I'd describe it as a 'verbal beatdown.'" 

The conversation lulls into one of final exams and papers, but the comfortable feelings remain a constant between them, just like the white lines that speed below her eyeline on the road and the never-ending trees that border them. She thinks on the ridiculous notion that Diana left her with, an absurd idea that Gilbert might have feelings for her and that she might return those feelings right back. It's a joke that's been played many times in their friend group, by his brother Bash, and even by Marilla on widely random occasions, but Anne cannot see it for the life of her. He's _Gilbert,_ and she's _Anne,_ making it nearly impossible for any sort of romantic happenings to go on between them. It would be like forcing two magnets to stick to each other or pouring oil and water into a cup and expecting them to mix. They would repel one another in any universe, any timeline, any form. She just doesn't understand why everyone's trying to force it. 

_"You think you can make it four hours alone with him in a confined space without any feelings being uncovered? That's so cute, Anne."_

We'll see about that, Diana. We shall see. 

**6:15 pm** ♦ **10ºF** ♦ **350** **km to Avonlea** ♦ **now playing:** ** _angel eyes_**

Only forty-five minutes pass before Anne's stomach rumbles loudly, and she declares her hunger. 

"Take the next exit," she groans, lifting her feet onto the dashboard, which causes him to reach over and lower her feet back down onto the floor. 

"We've only been driving for a bit; can you wait for another twenty at least?" 

Her reply is a slight mumble, trying to mask the excuse of her hunger before he talks her ears off about the importance of eating a healthy lunch. Pre-med students are so... finicky. Pre-med students that know your mother and can easily give her a call about her daughter's unhealthy habits are especially difficult. 

"What was that?" He laughs, putting his hand up to his ear. 

"I..." she starts slowly, sinking into her seat in hiding, "I didn't eat lunch." 

He turns to look at her for a second, his eyes full of the kind of mirth that only comes from a correct assumption. It's the dead of winter, but something about the greenish tint of his hazel eyes reminds her of Avonlea summer— like the creek out past Diana's house that they used to splash around in. His stare is a comfort, yet somehow also unnerving, with the way his eyes always speak multitudes beyond the teasing that passes his lips. 

"I'm sure there were way more important things going on," he says, turning back to the road, leaving her feeling bare. Despite the hidden admonishments, he signals into the exit lane with a smile. 

So he was easily manipulated into stopping for snacks. Check one Anne, Gilbert zero. 

Her cheers and his laughter following combine into the most disorganized symphony she's ever heard, but somehow, it sounds better than the music playing around them. If you asked Anne, she'd probably say that she laughed the most with Diana, and that was probably true, but she likes the laughter she shares with Gilbert. It's like a secret between them, something no one else can have or hold— this intangible thing that she wants to nourish and let grow until it's exploding at the seams. 

They stop at a gas station for something cheap and easy, and she thinks about how these places along the highway are such liminal spaces. There's hardly anyone there except a man who looks nearly one hundred years old and a girl who might as well be three, and it feels like an alternate reality. The lights flicker as Gilbert disregards Anne's lengthy theory about how once they leave, the gas station will disappear out of thin air and cease to exist while they go up and down the aisles in search of sustenance. They argue about which Lays flavor is the best and come to the conclusion that the cheddar flavor is absolute trash. He lingers on the sandwiches in deliberation as Anne fills a slushie cup to the brim of blue raspberry and cherry before taking the rest of her snack haul to the counter. 

Gilbert stands behind her awkwardly, waiting to pay after her, and she giggles, grabbing his stuff and setting them along with hers. It's almost like grocery shopping together, except in a very college-student-who-can't-afford-much type of way. When the cashier tells them the price, Gilbert pulls his wallet out, which she scolds, stopping his hand and putting her own cash on the counter. 

"You're driving, let me pay," she asserts, thanking the cashier and skipping towards the door with their bag in tow. 

She's glad he drops it there. As much as she could argue with him about anything and everything, an argument about who's going to pay for snacks as if they were on a date at the finest restaurant in town is a _bit_ too ridiculous for her liking. That doesn't stop him from opening her door and bowing like a moron, too smug for his own good as he hurries back to the driver's seat. 

"What?" he taunts, his smile is sickeningly innocuous, "it's the least I can do for my benefactor." 

She rolls her eyes dramatically and hits his shoulder before popping a chip in her mouth. Her feet are up against the dashboard despite his constant threats, and he sits criss-cross applesauce like a kindergartner at snack time. 

"So, what are you doing for Christmas?" He asks. 

"The usual; eat dinner with Matthew and Marilla—trying my absolute best to get Matthew to eat some vegetables— open presents under the tree, and then watch Rudolph with hot chocolate and marshmallows." 

As partial as she is to Autumn, Christmastime was one of the most magical times of the year. The food, the smells, the gifts, and the time spent with those she loved always melted the years she spent Christmas alone and despaired. In the system, she'd get socks at best, and at worst had to take care of a gaggle of small children as they cried while their parents partied somewhere with friends all night. 

Anne always thought that she could never build her own Christmas traditions, but Matthew, Marilla, Diana, and all her friends proved her wrong every year— each of them providing their own thread to her new family tapestry that grew larger with every holiday. 

"Ah, Rudolph, a classic." 

"And what about you— are you going to make up Hanukkah with Bash?" 

"Bash says he has latkes— which he swears aren't frozen— and jelly-filled donuts waiting for me at home, but we'll see how long they last with Delphine around. She's an absolute fiend," he smiles, but she can see the fondness for his niece spilling out. Freshman year, when Gilbert spent all eight nights of Hanukkah studying for finals week, on the last night, during a feeble attempt to enjoy the holiday, he made frozen latkes in Anne's dorm kitchen, nearly puking when he took a bite, as the middles were still freezing.

They eat their measly dinner in the parking lot, and it reminds her of the many times they went off campus for lunch in high school. The independence of it all made her feel so much like an adult back then, but as they debate whether kangaroos are absolutely terrifying creatures or not, she knows she's not a child, but she doesn't feel quite so grown up. She likes that perfect in-between space she feels when she's with him— unsure if it feels this way anywhere else but here in his beat-up Honda Civic, which smells like evergreen and her blue and red slushie. 

**8:20 pm** ♦ **8ºF** ♦ **205** **km to Avonlea** ♦ **now playing:** ** _let's get out of this country_**

The conversations have been fairly light, never straying into something too personal or too deep until there's a long-drawn-out silence and he asks her the question she never expected from him. 

"Are you still seeing Roy?" he blurts quickly. The way that his head snaps towards hers and then back on the road is almost comical, and she can tell he didn't even realize he was going to ask until it was already halfway out of his mouth. 

"No," she answers. 

Really, it's the first they've talked about Roy together other than in passing. Anne doesn't really understand why it felt like a taboo subject to bring up with him, but it just did. To be fair, he never brought up the girls he was seeing either, and she always ended up hearing about them from Ruby or even Bash on one odd occasion. 

But her entire friend group had been so overjoyed about her flirtation with the Kingsport golden boy that nearly every conversation had to include his name; what they did on dates, whether he was a good kisser, _how far did they get,_ and she got nearly sick of talking about it. Suddenly, it was like she wasn't her own person, but part of this collective, this subject rather than an individual, and it got tiring. With Gilbert, though, she was just Anne. Eventually, she realized he wasn't going to force the gossip out of her and she could just relax around him. She could talk about whatever she wanted to, and he'd never prompt her for more or dig out something she wasn't ready to unearth. 

Perhaps it is because he's never forced anything out of her that she feels the need to pour these feelings she's never truly said out loud onto the table for him to discover. 

"He was always... complimenting me." 

It comes out like this weird narcissistic declaration, and he must catch her meaning because he laughs through his nose. 

"I'd think compliments were something you'd want in a relationship, weirdo," he says, taking a sip of her slushie that's basically syrup by now. 

"They are," she groans, shoving her head into her hands and kicking her feet. "It's just that...Roy would say these magical and poetic things about me and how I looked, and I know that's everything I ever wanted, but they would come so easily to him! All these lovely words of admiration, yet never truly feeling like they _belonged_ to me. Instead of these sweeping, romantic poems, sometimes I wish he just told me I was beautiful." 

It was always bouquets, chocolates, and poems with him. The thirteen-year-old inside wanted to swoon at the affection that had been held so highly as her ideal for so long, but it lacked a certain amount of sincerity and honesty that she found herself craving. She desired words that came from the mind, body, and soul— raw, real— and not just what one felt should be said. 

He's quiet. Even with the music playing, Anne focuses on his silence and worries she said something entirely too ridiculous, and he'll finally see her like the little fool she is. 

When he speaks, it's deliberate and slow, he takes his time with the words, and the syllables tie together to form a sentence so simple yet so sweet, it blows Roy's arsenal of poetry out of the water.

"You are beautiful, Anne," he says, and it speaks like sacred testimony after an oath of truth. 

She wonders if she's ever heard Gilbert tell a lie and can't come up with a single one. 

**9:00 pm** ♦ **7ºF** ♦ **160** **km to Avonlea** ♦ **now playing:** ** _with you_**

When she sees the first snowflakes hit the windshield, her first thought is how beautiful the white flakes look against the light of the car before the realization hits her, and she stares at Gilbert in the hope he isn't looking at what she is. It's entirely too late because his eyes are squinting in concentration, following every single scattering of snow until he groans and turns on his windshield wipers. 

"Okay, let's just get this out of the way; the weatherman lied to me," she defends, laughing at his exasperated glare. 

"I'll be sure to bring that up to my insurance company when we total my car." 

"It's just a couple of flakes; I doubt it'll be anything more," she insists, trying to convince herself as well, watching the few flakes turn into a flurry in only a few minutes. 

Snow is magical when you're locked up in the warmth of your home, a good book in hand, maybe some tea in the other, sitting in your most comfortable pajamas. Snow is less magical when you're on the road in the middle of nowhere in a car that's totally ancient, which certainly wouldn't make a snowstorm even on its best days. Gilbert says as much when they skirt a little bit on the road, and it's getting more difficult to see outside of the windshield. 

He pulls over after a while of trying his best, sliding slightly onto the grass of this old country road as it begins to be blanketed in white. 

"I'm going to check and see if there's anywhere to stop and rest for the night," he says definitively. 

"What?" she shouts, "no, no, no, absolutely not." 

"Anne, I'm not driving in this, and we still have a couple hours to go— we're stopping." 

She shoots him a glare and opens the door, stepping out onto the empty road. The snow is already soaking up all of the sounds around them, so she can only hear her shallow breaths and Gilbert's humming from the car. It's the kind of silence she wants to live in, capturing it and putting it in her pocket for another time. She spins, and spins, and spins around in circles as the snow falls in her hair, on her nose, and her eyelashes. It's ridiculous, but she keeps doing it until she gets a little nauseous, electing instead to sit on the road. When she looks up, Gilbert is staring at her from the driver's seat with a strange smile on his face. He rolls down the window and leans over. 

"There's a bed and breakfast a little bit up the road, I think we should stop there for the night, and hopefully tomorrow we can head back out," he says, ever the planner. 

"Okay," she drawls hesitantly, "but come out here first." 

He stares at her in disbelief, starting the car back up to get her to come in. She plants her feet into the snow and crosses her arms across her chest.

"Come out here, or I'm disappearing in the woods, and you'll never see me again." 

Gilbert shakes his head, stepping out onto the snow carefully. "If you say so, Dryad." He looks around, trying to sus out exactly what Anne finds so intriguing out there, with his head facing the sky and blinking when the flakes fall in his eyes. 

"Do you hear that?" she whispers, stepping closer to him. 

"No?" He responds, brows quirked. 

"Exactly," she says with a wide grin, holding out her palms to catch the falling snow. 

He turns back at the car, anxiety plastered on his face showing how desperately he wants to leave before the snow traps them here in the middle of nowhere. She doesn't want to concede this to him— she wants to stay in this moment until the very last second with him, so she takes his hands in hers and spins again, forcing him along with her until they're both going round in circles and he's laughing, stepping on her toes accidentally, and bumping into the car. It's a moment that could have been in some cheesy coming of age film where the main characters were maybe more adjusted, maybe more open, and could fall in love. With Gilbert, though, this moment feels like something she could put right back into the childhood she never had. Put it in a shelf of memories that she didn't get to start fixing up until she was thirteen. They finally stop when they're out of breath, bracing their hands on their knees and looking up at each other through lidded eyes and messy hair.

It's charged and electric, and she wants to warm his red, cold nose with her mittens but decides that might not be something that friends with zero feelings for each other would do. 

"Let's go," she resolves, not looking back at his face until she's in the safety of the passenger seat. 

The ride to the B&B is as silent as the snow falling around them. 

**9:25 pm** ♦ **7ºF** ♦ **152** **km to Avonlea** ♦ **now playing:** ** _peace_**

Gilbert makes about a hundred jokes over the fact the B&B they're staying at is called the 'Queen Anne.' 

From the minute they park outside the small, old inn to the long period they spend waiting for an employee at the check-in desk, he asks if she thinks they could get a discount for her namesake, or if she modeled her 'queenish' look, as he called it, off of Queen Anne herself. She mocks every joke he throws at her, entirely displeased at the fact she'll have to pay for a night at an inn around Christmas. Ironic. 

The 'Queen Anne' looks exactly as you would think. Bright, baby pink rooms with green trimming and floral patterns on just about everything. Where there aren't flowers, there are Canadian memorabilia that makes her wonder if they sell their own maple syrup or something else extremely stereotypical for American tourists. 

She goes from blaming the snow to blaming the weatherman, and then Gilbert in a cycle until a short, middle-aged woman pokes her head out of the closet door.

"Oh!" She exclaims, running towards the desk and opening an obscenely large book in front of her. "How can I help you?" 

"We'd like two rooms, please," Gilbert answers, voice hopeful. 

The woman— Shaunah, according to her nametag— clicks her tongue, looking down at her big book and shaking her head. "I only have one room for you, honey." 

What is with middle-aged women and calling you honey? 

"Oh, sorry to trouble you, we'll find somewhere else—" 

"—That's alright." 

They both respond at the same time, looking back at each other in a silent war, and Gilbert's unwavering gaze prevails. She wonders what would be worse: sleeping in a bed with Gilbert all night, in a room that certainly has ghosts, or taking her chances with hypothermia outside. She can see from the window that the snow is coming down harder and accumulating more each second, so she takes a deep breath, squeezes her hands into fists, and puts on a frigid smile. 

"One room is fine." 

Once they're checked in, they're taken up to the second floor of the inn, which looks just as frilly and ancient as the first floor and smells like a grandmother's perfume. The room isn't any better, with about thirty throw pillows on the queen-sized bed and flower vases on every flat surface. Anne can hear Gilbert snort from the bathroom, and he pops out a moment later with a bar of soap that's shaped like a duck. 

It's weird, she thinks, as they eat a roast chicken dinner in their room, doing a dramatic reading of a lesser-known Nicolas Sparks book they find in the nightstand, how she almost forgets what they're doing here. After Gilbert stands on a chair and reads a particular lengthy monologue in a horrible southern accent, this doesn't feel like an impromptu stop during a snowstorm anymore, and it feels like they're there on a fanciful vacation when they share a plate of chocolate cake on the bed. Their friendship only lingers in pieces as they brush their teeth next to each other, smiling from their eyes in the mirror— it's more, it's something different, and she isn't quite sure what it is because she's never had it with anyone else before. There's a comfortable silence that she can only define as a certain kind of understanding, but when they talk, it's like she's talking with the best parts of herself, the parts she loves the most. 

Diana texts her while he's in the bathroom changing clothes for bed, the content hitting different based on the precarious situation she's in. 

**_[diana]:_ ** _so, has Gilbert declared his passionate love for you yet?_

 **_[anne]:_ ** _di, please don't say that when I'm literally about to sleep with him_

 **_[anne]:_ ** _wait, not like that_

Gilbert comes back in, and Anne slams her phone on the nightstand, ignoring the repetitive vibrating that's most likely coming from Diana.

He nods towards her phone. "Do you need to get that?" 

"No!" She shouts, waving her hands across her face in a way that doesn't convince him at all. "It's no one— well, not no one, it's obviously someone— but no one important, she's... she's crazy and knows absolutely nothing about anything." 

He tilts his head slightly, brows furrowed, before nodding and awkwardly sitting on the bed with his hands on his lap. 

They sit like that for an awkward amount of time, sitting on polar opposite sides of the bed and nearly falling off the edge. Anne is the one to finally break the silence. 

"We're acting silly, right?" She laughs, looking towards him. 

Gilbert takes a deep inhale, and it's shaky on the way out, and whether it's nerves or laughter, she isn't so sure. "Yeah, I mean, it's one night in the same bed, that's not that weird." 

"Exactly!" She exclaims, pointing at him, "we're just two friends, platonically sleeping in the same bed because we simply had no other choice. Nothing strange about this, folks."

He nods, "anyone could see that it is a practical decision." 

"Even if our friends would totally freak out and think we were dating or something if they found out," she jokes, punching his shoulder lightly. 

"Wait, what?" he chokes out, looking down at her in shock. She thinks he's kidding until his eyes lock with hers in earnest, and she can see the flush dusting his cheeks. 

"You know, how everyone teases us about... I don't know, liking each other or something— it's stupid." 

He swallows thickly, and for the first time on the trip, the silence surrounding them speaks volumes more than anything else, and there's no understanding in the way she searches his face for any meaning. 

"Yeah," he says, and it doesn't sound like his voice when he turns over to turn his lamp off. "It's stupid." 

**11:30 pm** ♦ **6ºF** ♦ **152** **km to Avonlea** ♦ **now playing:** ** _harvest moon_**

The moon's glare peaks through the windows and creates a lovely little halo around the bed, adding enough shine to see the snow floating down outside. 

Anne can't sleep. 

First and foremost, it's freezing. The owners of the 'Queen Anne' have never heard of heating because her feet are chilled to the bone, and she's positive her breath can be seen in little puffs of steam. The quilt on top of them does little to soothe the cold, instead, it feels like it's absorbing all of the cold, and it reminds her of making snow angels with Ruby and Diana. Gilbert must be completely obvious and happy as a clam because his breathing is steady, and he's barely made a sound since turning off his lamp an hour ago. This brings her to her second problem: Gilbert. The pounding of her heart as he sleeps next to her can't calm her enough to let her slip into REM, forcing her to stay wide awake with what feels like adrenaline pumping through her veins. If Gilbert isn't sleeping, he can definitely hear the thumping of her heart against her chest. 

"Anne," comes his voice in the dark. 

_'Oh, shit, he can definitely hear my heart.'_

"Yeah?" She whispers back, acting as sleep-affected as she possibly can. 

"You're shaking," he states lowly, "if you're uncomfortable with me here, I can sleep on the chair." 

Her response comes slow, and he must take it as a request to move because he starts getting up, so she tosses herself closer to his side and grabs his wrist. 

"I'm cold." 

Anne silently curses herself for sounding like a pathetic child; the complaint comes out squeaky and practically tearful. 

Gilbert eases himself back onto the bed, not quite laying down, but not really sitting either. "Oh," he says quietly, "do you want me to ask for another blanket?" 

"No, but can you just..." she starts, unsure of what exactly she wants until she feels the heat from his wrist that she still grasps soaking into her hand. "Can you hold me?" 

They stay like that for what feels like forever, with her reveling in the small amount of heat he gives off. It's an embarrassing request, but the chill of the air keeps her from dwelling too much on it, and she wants to cry when he finally lays back down with her, pulling her against his chest. 

It's an intimate moment that she's never allowed herself with anyone, not even Roy. With Roy, she always told him she wasn't a cuddler, that it felt too suffocating and all too much, but here with Gilbert, she thinks she might have always been a cuddler, never being held quite like this before. His hands are wrapped around her waist, with the skin of his forearm heating her midriff like a well-loved cardigan. Their feet tangle up, and she can feel his breath on the back of her neck. It's not suffocating at all; nothing about this is overwhelming but all-consuming, safe, and _loved._ He's holding onto her like something precious and valuable, yet it's honest and true. None of the flourishes and ornamental essence she so dreaded before. 

Anne turns around slowly in his arms, keeping him locked in place as she braces her hand on his shoulder and stares into the shine of his eyes, unable to help the gravitational pull that guides her lips to his in a soft and smooth dance. He tastes like the mint of his toothpaste, and it almost, _almost_ overpowers the strong perfume around them when she opens his lips ever so slightly. He groans at that, letting the hand that had been on her waist creep up to cup her cheek, tilting her chin up to deepen the angle. He pulls away suddenly, and she wishes the light was on so she could try to read what he's feeling, but there are only the contours of his face and gleam in his eyes that are highlighted by the moon. 

"Thank you," she utters, coming out from her throat in a rasp. 

His arm slides back down around her waist as she turns back around, putting her fingertips against her lips to quell the tingling. 

"For what?" 

"It doesn't feel so cold anymore." 

**8:00 am** ♦ **14ºF** ♦ **152** **km to Avonlea** ♦ **now playing:** ** _geology_**

Anne wakes up in an ungraceful tangle of limbs and her drool on her chin. 

He's still settled behind her, and she's thankful for that as she wipes her mouth and sits up, smoothing out her hair and trying not to look like a mess. At the absence of her body, he groans and mumbles something unintelligible before jolting awake. She quite likes the look of him in the morning, ruffled hair, shirt askew, and just a bit of stubble. 

"Good morning," he says, voice rough with sleep. 

"Morning." 

There's a moment where he stares at their arms still linked together, and then he inches away and walks towards the other side of the room in a vain attempt to pack and avoid what went on between them. He regrets what happened, and she sees it every time he purposely avoids her gaze and answers in one-word responses. They don't even stay and eat breakfast at a _bed and breakfast_ because he insists they get on the road to make it home as soon as possible. 

Anne wants to cry at his obvious rejection but doesn't want him to know just how much last night meant and how much it actually affected her. Every touch of his lips, his fingers, and his toes planted himself deep into her dreams, and she doesn't think she'll forget them any time soon. It's like the shape of his body rested behind hers had imprinted on her memory, and she can't remember what it felt like to sleep alone without him there. 

Only after one, stupid night. 

Gilbert still lets her plug her phone in when they get in the car, and he hums along to the songs she plays as the 'Queen Anne' fades into the horizon behind them. 

**9:00 am** ♦ **25ºF** ♦ **67** **km to Avonlea** ♦ **now playing:** ** _only heather_**

Anne gains the courage to say something about the feelings budding inside from the lyrical queen Taylor Swift as they approach the fifty-minute mark left before they get home.

"About last night—” 

"—No, Anne, really it's okay," he interrupts, clearing his throat before continuing, "you don't have to say anything; I understand it didn't mean anything." 

She wants to protest— wants to tell him that _no_ , it did mean something. It meant something, and she wants to work out what it means with one of her best friends because if he doesn't understand it then who will? No one quite understands her nonsense as he does, not even she does. It's like he's cataloged every Anne she's ever been and knows what each one does and feels, learning all the things about her that are confusing, so she doesn't have to yet. She wants to tell him that last night was the best and worst she's ever slept, and she doesn't even know how that's possible, but it is because it was with him, and with him, it feels like anything is possible. 

But she doesn't tell him these things because he can't even match her gaze, fixing his eyes on the road ahead of them, so she looks down on her feet and grips the hem of her sweater until her knuckles are white. 

This is his answer. It's the honesty that she's always loved about him, but now she isn't so sure that she wants it this way anymore. The wise saying is the truth hurts, and she knows this must be true because with every passing minute of his silence, it stings her more and more until the prickling reaches her nose and the corner of her eyes. 

"Yeah, it didn't mean anything," she says, and it tastes like bitter defeat on her tongue.

 **10:00 am** ♦ **27ºF** ♦ **0** **km to Avonlea** ♦ **now playing:** ** _this is love (feels alright)_**

When they reach the familiar long, winding road that leads to Green Gables, she breathes her first breath of relief since that morning.

The snow looks beautiful on the ground of this Island she loves so much, and she sees Gilbert taking glances of his own and wonders if he's thinking the same thing. 

There are suddenly so many things she wants to do rather than sit in her own hurt in this car and suffer through his silence. She'd rather endure teasing from Jerry, do all of her least favorite chores for Matthew, or be admonished by Marilla for breaking the nice china; instead, she lingers in Gilbert's car trying to find the words of gratitude, of anger, of pain, of love, but she can't. He just looks at anything but her and only nods when she opens the door to leave, a quiet _goodbye_ following her out of the car. 

She doesn't turn back around while she stomps up the drive and onto the veranda, slowly opening the door as to not alert Matthew and Marilla of her presence just yet. She needs a moment by herself to piece her world back together before she has to put on a smiling face, not wanting to give them anything but her best after months apart. 

When she gets to the kitchen sink to splash some water on her face, she can see his car still parked in the same place, stuck in its place, and she thinks it must have finally broken to the point of no return. That is until Gilbert gets out of the car and runs up the drive. He stops a couple of times, turning back around with his head in his hands before shifting back on his toes and marching back towards the house with purpose. The sort of purpose that gives her hope. 

Before she can convince herself to lock herself in her room, she runs out the door to meet him in the middle of the path, water still dripping from her face. 

"Anne," he says, staring down at her, shaking his head a couple of times as if he's trying to figure out just how to phrase his next words. "Yesterday, you said you wanted honesty, and here it is; last night didn't mean nothing to me, it meant everything to me. I can't even begin to tell you how much I've been wanting to hold you like that. And did you know that's the best I have ever slept, and yet I could hardly sleep for fear I would miss something?" 

She opens her mouth to say something, but he steps forward, taking her hand in his and staring at the way her fingers close around his naturally.

"I'm sorry if I made things awkward, but I'm also not sorry," he admits, shaking his head definitively, "I'm not sorry because it's how I feel, and you need to know that I can't hide it from you anymore." 

"Gilbert," she murmurs, searching his eyes for all of the words she wants to say and deciding against them. Instead, she pushes herself to her tiptoes and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her level to show him her love in the purest way she knows how. 

It's freezing outside— she's without a coat, and her face is still damp, but his kiss warms her up just as it did the night before, spreading like a head rush down to the tip of her toes. It's exhilarating as he draws her flush against him, practically lifting her off of the ground, nothing like the languid and slow kiss from last night but secure, desperate, and determined. Her gloveless fingers card through the hair on the back of his head and he finally sets her back down, moving both of his hands to cup her cheeks with resolve. The way his thumbs move across the expanse of her cheeks makes her wonder if he's tracing each and every dreaded freckle that scatters her face, but she can't bring herself to care because his words from last night ring through her ears like a mantra. 

_You are beautiful, Anne._

And with the tempting press of his lips against hers, and those hands encompassing her, she feels the weight of those words and just how much they ring true. 

When she pulls back to catch her breath, he chases her mouth, one, two, three times with a smile. Their foreheads are resting against each other when he speaks up: 

"Admittedly, I've been wanting to do that for a long time," he says, and it's bashful, considering the fact she had so enthusiastically received him. 

"I haven't," she confesses, but she sets her eyes on his and bounces on her feet, "but now that we have, I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do— _a lot._ "

"Oh?" he smirks, leaning in closer until his warm breath fans across her face, "I think I can do _a lot—”_

"—My word, what are you two doing out in the cold?" A voice comes from behind them, and they both jump away from each other comically like they're infectious, staring in the direction of the voice. Marilla is standing there with the milk bucket, gawking at the scene in front of them. 

"Marilla!" Anne shouts, "we were just— well, you know we were... talking... very closely you see because... well, Gilbert!" She points at the boy next to her, and he nods very seriously, "poor Gilbert can't hear very well these days, so I was just simply helping him... hear... better." 

Gilbert stands up very straight and tries his best not to burst out laughing, "Hello, Miss Cuthbert." 

Marilla scoffs and rolls her eyes, "why don't you _help_ Gilbert inside where it's warm— and give him some coffee— you both look like you're about to fall asleep right there in the snow!" 

Marilla certainly doesn't believe them, but she doesn't say as much as she walks back up into the house in silence, concealing her own smile. 

Anne turns back to Gilbert once her mother closes the front door, and she can't help the bubbles of laughter that pour out of her throat ungracefully. He does the same, bending over with his hands over his stomach as peels of laughter rush from his kiss-swollen lips. 

They stay like that for a while, laughing and giggling like children in the snow. Anne knows that soon, she'll take him up to the house, have that cup of coffee that Marilla demanded, and they'll talk about what exactly they are. She will tell him that she wants to be with him, where she hopes he'll want to be with her. She'll allow Diana to say ' _I told you so'_ until the words don't mean anything anymore, and she'll tell Marilla and Matthew what exactly her intentions are with the neighbor boy's heart. 

But for now, she wants it to be just them in the snow, exactly how they started last night. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter- @gilbertjpeg  
> tumblr- @natsujpg  
> [ here's the mixtape i made for ela!! ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3JCg7pEKInjGDnhvxLmVd8)


End file.
